


We Live Like Kings

by audreycritter



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Young!Jason, but s'mores, father-son bonding, football is boring, microwave mishaps, no profreading we die like mne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 17:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10470738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/pseuds/audreycritter
Summary: Jason is pretty sure he could live forever in the Gotham Knights stadium, boring football games aside.Bruce is less certain but he's willing to give it a night.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cerusee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerusee/gifts).



The massive clock ticked off the seconds of the fourth quarter and far below on the field, players were moving into formation at the Gotham Knights offensive twenty yard line. They looked minuscule from the windows, so the few people in the luxury box mostly watched the game on a huge flat screen television mounted in front of a curved leather couch.

On the other side of the room, a table with the remnants of catered h’or d’oeuvres was set back against the wall, beneath framed and signed photographs.

Bruce Wayne was doing three things at once, during the last quarter of the game. He was giving just enough attention to the score that he could react appropriately during plays. He was keeping up a buddy-buddy conversation with two executives that were considering merger deals that let Wayne Enterprises essentially buy out company control in return for shared accounts and research funding.

And finally, he was occasionally twisting around on the couch to glance at Jason Todd. The tiny thirteen year old could still pass for eight or nine despite the fact that he’d single-handedly cleared about a third of the catered snacks himself. The boy had been visibly excited at the prospect of the luxury box when Bruce had mentioned it, but the thrill had clearly faded when it became clear that Bruce was busy, in a way, and that there wasn’t much to do other than watch a football game.

Jason wasn’t, for all his protests, really that interested in sports.

A few times, Bruce had tried to draw him into conversation at least, to alleviate the boredom, but Jason was sullen and silent around the other men. Despite that, he had refused a quiet offer to have Alfred pick him up early. And now, while the last minutes of the game ticked away, Jason was lying on his stomach on the deep, plush carpet near the table, flipping through a Car & Driver magazine. Occasionally, his hand would snake upward and he’d snatch another miniature spinach quiche off the table.

With a frustrated slant to his mouth, Bruce turned back around when the others cheered, just in time to see a touchdown victory dance on the screen.

Half an hour later, the Knights had won their game by a narrow margin and Bruce Wayne had informally closed two separate deals, bolstered with good spirits from the scoreboard and expensive wine. The last of the guests in the Wayne luxury box shook hands with him in turn and left by the private hallway, on a tour to meet the team post-showers.

Bruce declined to join them, claiming he was tipsy and didn’t want to slow them down. He was not tipsy. He’d had one glass of wine to their three each.

Once the door closed behind them, he turned to find Jason standing at the window overlooking the field and pressing his face against the glass to take more of the view in.

“This is so high,” he breathed, despite the fact that they went higher when they patrolled.

Bruce joined him at the window.

“It’s pretty far up,” he agreed.

Jason breathed on the glass and wrote his initials in the fog, and before it had even faded, he tore himself away from the window and flung himself across the leather couch.

“That was so boring,” he complained. “Do you even like those guys?”

“It’s not my job to like them,” Bruce answered, loosening his tie. “It’s my job to make them think I do.”

Jason flopped backward and somersaulted off the couch and sprang to his feet. He walked through the sitting area in front of the television, trailing one hand on the leather of the couch arms, and then hopped up the step to the kitchenette.

“That seems slimy,” Jason said bluntly, opening cabinet after cabinet and peering inside. He punched buttons on the shiny microwave and then cancelled the beeping operation. “Man, I could live here.”

Bruce was content to let him explore, now that he realized this is what Jason had been waiting to do and wouldn’t do in front of guests. He stretched out on the couch, thinking maybe he could doze for ten minutes before heading back to the Manor and suiting up for patrol.

It wasn’t long before he was half-asleep, listening to the opening and closing of drawers, debating facing Jason’s wounded anger to insist that the lad stay home and sleep after a long day. Alfred would come around with the car when Bruce called and maybe the ride home would be a good place to deal with the reaction in a contained way.

“Hey, B,” Jason said, from close to Bruce’s face. Bruce opened one eye. The boy was hanging over the back of the couch, his eyes mere inches from Bruce’s. “I’m not kiddin. I could live here.”

“You’re not going to live in the luxury box,” Bruce said, yawning.

“It’s got everything,” Jason insisted. “A bathroom. A kitchen. The best carpet. A TV. I could sleep on the couch.”

“Jay-lad, you have a bedroom at the Manor. This kitchen doesn’t even have a stove.”

“Don’t need a stove for Spaghettios,” Jason answered, balancing on his stomach on the couch back. He slipped and toppled onto Bruce’s head but didn’t rush to leap off, like he might have a year ago. “Puhleeeeeese, just a week. I’d do so much homework, I swear.”

“You do all your homework now,” Bruce answered, his voice muffled by Jason’s shirt and belly.

The boy slid to the floor in a heap and rubbed fiercely at his stomach. He craned his neck so Bruce could see his angry expression.

“That tickled. I hate being tickled.”

“I hate being suffocated. Call it even?”

Jason grumbled.

“I don’t know why you’d have an awesome place like this and not wanna use it.”

“We did use it. Today.”

“For boring stuff!” Jason yelled, throwing his arms in the air and falling from sitting on the floor onto his back next to the couch. “One night. Just one. We can rough it like Robinson Crusoe.”

“I don’t think Crusoe had deep-pile carpet,” Bruce said wryly, closing his eyes again.

“Like the Swiss Family Robinson, after they built their tree house,” Jason said, sitting up again. Bruce sensed, rather than saw, the motion. “Please, just one night. One night and I won’t complain about anything for a month. For the rest of my life.”

“That’s a pretty big commitment. What if you live until you’re ninety-seven?” Bruce asked, resigning himself to no dozing. He sat up and rubbed his face.

“Eww,” Jason said, his lips curled in disgust. “I’m not getting gross-old. I’m gonna die when I’m like normal old, like forty-five. I’ll have a dozen cars and a shit-ton of money and a girlfriend.”

Bruce bit back a laugh and tousled the boy’s hair.

“Normal old, huh,” he said. “Don’t let Al hear you cuss.”

“Yep,” Jason said. “I got it all planned. So, can I stay the night?”

Bruce unknotted the tie he’d loosened earlier and pulled it all the way off. He threw it over the back of the couch and stood. He mussed Jason’s hair again and went to the box phone on the wall by the kitchenette. He was acutely aware of Jason’s eyes tracking his every moment.

“Alfred. Yeah, we’re done. No, change of plans. I need a few pizzas and two sleeping bags. Maybe a book or two.”

“Stuff for s’mores!” Jason shouted. Bruce turned. The kid was standing on the back of the couch like it was a balance beam.

“And stuff for s’mores. No, I know. No, I’m not going to light a fire in the box. Yeah, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Bruce hung up and Jason whooped loudly and jumped from the couch onto Bruce’s back. Bruce kept his balance and Jason leapt back off.

“I can’t believe this,” he said, pressing his hands to his cheeks and smooshing his own face together. “This is gonna be the best thing ever. I promise. You won’t even want to go home after.”

“I doubt that,” Bruce said. “But one night might be fun. Did you want to explore the stadium while we wait for Alfred?”

“Are we gonna have to pretend to like boring old guys?” Jason asked suspiciously, glancing over his shoulder toward the glass with a guarded frown.

“Not if I can help it,” Bruce said. He was about as done playing nice as Jason seemed to be. “I’ll race you up the steps. From the field to the peanut gallery.”

Jason’s suspicious gaze turned immediately disdainful.

“I shoulda known,” he muttered sourly.

“What?” Bruce asked, bewildered.

“That this was a ruse to get me to exercise,” Jason grumbled. He sank to the floor with a dramatic sigh. “B, I ate like, an entire whale. If I run I’m gonna hurl all over the whole freaking stadium, like so much it’ll make even you sick.”

“We don’t have to run,” Bruce said, shrugging a shoulder. “I just thought you were probably fast enough to beat me by now.”

Jason moved his arm off his face to squint up at him.

“You think so?” he asked.

Bruce shrugged again.

“Maybe. It’s okay. We can find out some other time.”

Jason was at the door by the time Bruce blinked. The boy tugged the door open and yelled over his shoulder, “C’mon, slowpoke! You make snails look fast!”

Despite the sound of rushing feet in the concrete hallway, Bruce took the time to peel his suit jacket off and leave it behind on the couch.

“How the hell do we get down? Heck, I mean,” Jason yelled from outside the box. “Never mind! I’m gonna jump this railing!”

“Don’t–” Bruce shouted back, but he was interrupted by the sound of a body landing on a hard surface and then rushed almost-nervous laughter, followed by a whoop.

By the time he emerged on the lower platform above the steps in the empty stadium, Jason was already turning cartwheels on the field. Bruce went down the steps, taking his time. He’d barely set foot on the bottom path before Jason scaled the concrete barrier to join him in the stands again.

“OnetwothreeGO!” Jason yelled, sprinting past him as soon as he’d vaulted over the rail. He was up a dozen steps by the time Bruce turned and started up them by twos.

He hung back a little until Jason started lagging, halfway up, and then quickened his pace until he was beside him. Right as he was going to pull ahead to see if Jason would push himself to keep up, the boy ducked his head and drove forward, then launched himself off the edge of a stadium seat and onto Bruce’s back.

For a moment, Bruce staggered, slipping sideways with the force in his slick dress shoes that weren’t exactly made for running smooth cement stairs. He regained his balance and picked up speed.

“Uuughhh,” Jason said from near his ear. “This was a bad idea.”

“Should I stop?” Bruce asked, slowing a little.

“Not unless you’re too weak, old timer,” Jason retorted.

A minute later, they were at the top and Bruce turned to survey the stadium. Jason was draped across his back and after a nerve-wracking hiccup, he sighed and said, “Okay, I swallowed it. I think I can hold it down.”

“That’s gross, Jay,” Bruce said affectionately, heading for the elevator. “C’mon, you can lie down on the couch.”

Back in the luxury box, Jason sprawled out on the leather and didn’t move until Alfred knocked on the door. Bruce opened it to see the older man standing with two pizza boxes and a sack of supplies.

“The sleeping bags are still in the car,” Alfred said, as Jason rolled off the couch.

“I’m starving,” Jason said, taking both of the pizzas. “All we had for lunch was snacks.”

Bruce faltered under Alfred’s stern glare of reproof and he turned to the boy, who had already flipped back the cardboard lid of one pizza.

“Ten minutes ago you were complaining you’d eaten too much,” he said, hoping to salvage himself in Alfred’s estimation.

“That was like, forever ago,” Jason said. “We were waiting for half my life.”

“It was finger food,” Bruce said firmly, deciding to take the offensive. “He ate.”

“Hm,” Alfred said in a noncommittal way. “I’ll return with the sleeping bags. Should I remain available this evening?”

“I think we’ll be fine,” Bruce said, watching Jason hold a piece of pizza with his teeth while he searched cabinets for plates. “Take the night off.”

“No post-midnight activities, I presume?” Alfred asked from the doorway.

“I think we’ll skip tonight,” Bruce confirmed.

In the kitchenette, Jason froze. He took the pizza slice with one hand to free his mouth, so he could ask, “Do we have to?”

“One or the other, kid,” Bruce said, glancing out the window at the skyline beyond the stadium walls. It was actually right inside the city and a lot closer than the Cave.

“No,” Alfred said sternly from behind. “We are not relocating.”

“One or the other,” Bruce repeated with a small sigh. “A night off is okay.”

When Alfred brought the rest of the supplies up and said farewell, Jason took a break from wolfing pizza down to shove the couch back and unroll the sleeping bags. Bruce ducked into the bathroom to change out of his suit, and when he reemerged, Jason was lying on the bed he’d made with more pizza, flicking through channels on the television.

“I didn’t even know that had cable,” Bruce said, sitting on the floor with him and taking another piece of pizza. Jason found a B-list action film and tossed the remote aside.

“Eew,” Jason said a few minutes later, covering his eyes but continuing to watch through splayed fingers. “Does it really look like that when someone’s head is blown off?”

“Give me that remote,” Bruce said, reaching over the boy. He changed the channel and then added, “Yes. It was pretty close.”

“Ugh, you know the coolest shit,” Jason said, fighting half-heartedly for the remote. “Go back, I wanna see if they win.”

“They win,” Bruce said, holding the remote above his head. Jason apparently didn’t care enough to stand up and really go after it. “It’s the formula. We’re sticking with something less likely to get either of us in trouble with Alfred.”

“Brown-noser!” Jason moaned. “You just hate it if I have fun.”

“I do,” Bruce replied, leaving the TV on an old sci-fi show instead. “I hate when anyone has fun.”

“I’m gonna make a s’more,” Jason said, pushing himself up. “I’ll even make one for you, just ‘cause you’ll hate it for being delicious.”

Bruce leaned back against the couch and watched the dark sky out the window. The microwave hummed and Jason whistled and drummed his hands on the counter until the whistling and drumming both cut off abruptly.

“Fuck,” he heard the kid say under his breath. Bruce looked over toward the kitchenette. Jason’s face was a picture of panic and he was reaching for the microwave door with a towel. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit,” he yelped while Bruce was climbing to his feet.

“What happened?” Bruce asked, jumping over the couch. The microwave was steaming and he snagged Jason around the waist and pulled him back while it hummed then beeped. White ooze seeped from the edges of the microwave door and the whole glass was a solid pale gray.

“Uhhh,” Jason said, his eyes wide.

Bruce scanned the counter and took the towel from Jason. The marshmallow bag was half-empty already.

“How many did you put in there?” Bruce demanded and Jason stepped back.

“I don’t…” Jason said, his hands clenched into fists. “I didn’t count. I was gonna…”

Bruce unplugged the microwave just in case and gingerly sprang the door open, jumping back as steam and goopy, sagging marshmallow oozed out onto the counter. He turned and Jason was gone.

“Jay,” Bruce said, trying to keep the edge of annoyance out of his voice. He hadn’t heard the door open or shut. He studied the room and there was a telltale lump inside one of the sleeping bags. He gave the marshmallow mess a rueful frown and abandoned it for the moment.

Across the room, he knelt next to the lump and prodded it.

“Do we have to go home?” Jason asked from within, sounding wretched and embarrassed.

“No. Come help me clean this up. Maybe we can save some in a bowl and make a dip.”

Jason’s face peeked out of the sleeping bag, his cheeks tear-streaked and his eyebrows bunched in a worried, angry glare.

“You can just say I’m stupid,” Jason said stubbornly.

“Why would I lie to you?” Bruce asked, offering a hand. “Come help me find some spoons.”

Jason let himself be pulled to his feet and he dragged himself to the kitchenette and started opening drawers to look, slamming each one shut after.

“At least you didn’t start a fire,” Bruce said. “First time I tried to make tea for Alfred, I caught the kettle on fire.”

Jason grinned suddenly and looked up.

“I bet he was mad.”

“He was mostly worried. We took care of it.”

Jason handed him a spoon and a bowl.

In the end, it took forty minutes to clean the mess. Half of it ended up in the bowl, another fourth Jason ate straight with a spoon while they worked, and another fourth was scraped off with damp paper towels and soap.

Bruce rewarmed the hardening mass in the bowl and Jason gleefully stirred in broken chocolate bars. Bruce would have preferred to just try from scratch with the rest of the bag, but after twenty minutes of indirectly encouraging Jason back to a good mood, he was reluctant to undo his work.

They sat in front of the television and used graham crackers like chips until even Bruce was feeling a little ill. He expected Jason to need to go run off the sugar rush, but the boy had the opposite reaction and was nearly tipping over with sleep-lidded eyes.

He curled up in the sleeping bag when Bruce took the bowl away and yawned.

“B,” he said, in a sluggish voice. “Are you sure we can’t live here?”

“I’m sure,” Bruce said. “But a night’s not bad.”

“A night is the best,” Jason mumbled. “Did Al pack my Nancy Drew book?”

Bruce tugged the monogrammed duffle bag closer to him from the end of the couch and rifled through it.

“He did,” Bruce said, pulling the book out.

“I’m on chapter seven,” Jason said with another yawn. “I’m too tired to read.”

“You want me to read?” Bruce surmised. After a second’s thought he decided it wasn’t the right time to prod Jason into just outright asking, considering how well the boy had done during the day.

“Yeah,” Jason said sleepily. “Chapter seven. Do the high voice for Nancy.”

“What high voice?” Bruce asked, acting falsely affronted.

“That one you use when you tell Alfred things Selina said that annoyed you,” Jason insisted. “I’ve heard you.”

Bruce sighed and opened the book and resolved to be more careful in the future about conversations he assumed were private.

“Chapter Seven,” he said.

“We really could live here,” Jason interrupted. “It’s right in the city.”

“Don’t tempt me, Jay-lad,” Bruce warned. “And hush. You wanted me to read.”

Jason giggled every time Nancy had dialogue and was asleep before the end of the chapter. Bruce set the book aside, turned off the light, and stretched out in his own sleeping bag.

He looked around the dark room and then over at Jason, sleeping with his face smashed into the little nylon pillow. Drool trickled out of the boy’s mouth and onto the bag. Bruce reached over and used Jason’s own shirt to wipe it off.

Then he leaned back and closed his eyes. It was actually nice to go to sleep before midnight for once.

He woke with the sun streaming through the huge windows and Jason leaning over him.

“Get up!” he ordered. “We’re nearly out of supplies. I’m making marshmallow dip for breakfast so we don’t starve.”

“We’re not going to starve,” Bruce said, grabbing Jason’s ankle when the boy tried to rush off. “Call Alfred. We’ll get breakfast on the way home.”

“Marshmallow dip or we waste away!” Jason shouted, kicking at Bruce’s wrist with his other foot. “Lemme go!”

Bruce resigned himself to his fate and released the kid. He rolled over and buried his face in his arms.

“When Alfred gets here, we pretend we haven’t eaten yet.”

“Deal,” Jason agreed. “But he’s gonna know anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bruce nodded. “But we can go down fighting.”

“Or live here forever!” Jason crowed, jabbing microwave buttons. “Luxury box kings!”

Bruce laughed and tried to go back to sleep.

He did not succeed.


End file.
